


Cross my Heart

by volley



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:06:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29781396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volley/pseuds/volley
Summary: A mission goes awry (what's new!) and someone special is called to save the day.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Someone read this on another fanfiction site and asked me to post it here. Hope you will enjoy it. It's a story I wrote a long long time ago, so long, in fact, that in one of my latest stories, I have just realized now, I sort of have a similar situation. 
> 
> Grateful thanks to my beta readers, Gabi 2305 and RoaringMice.
> 
> Set around Season Two.




It had perhaps only been ten minutes, but the dark and the damp were already settling into Trip's bones. Eyes on Malcolm whose flashlight was bobbing just ahead of him, Trip tried to keep up with the man – how the hell did he manage to be that damn quick on such slippery terrain? – and shivered, cursing himself for having virtually begged the Captain to bring him along on this mission. Gawd, what had he been thinking? Well, he knew what...

After weeks spent in the starship's artificial environment, all he had been able to envision, when he had heard the words 'M-class planet' and 'away mission', had been the rather utopian picture of green meadows and blue skies. As a matter of fact the sky _was_ a beautiful deep periwinkle blue - _outside_ the damn caverns. At the time he hadn't known that the most interesting feature of this planet was its intricate system of caves with their different types of ore.

The sun had been pleasantly warm, and as soon as he had stepped out of the shuttlepod Trip had turned his face to it, soaking it in. His eyes had been semi-closed, but he hadn't missed the subtly amused grin Malcolm had flashed him from behind the bent arm the man had raised against the glare.

"Did you bring your sun lotion, Commander?" Malcolm had murmured teasingly to him.

"Why, ya forgot yours?" Trip had drawled back, keeping his own voice low.

Despite being a few meters away, Archer had obviously caught their exchange, for he had turned to them with a glint of humour in his eyes. Then he had smiled one of his satisfied smiles, that which might grace the face of a father happy to see his children have fun on the family outing.

_Fun!_

Focussing back on the present, Trip scowled. This wasn't exactly his idea of fun. Hell, he had ached to breathe something that wasn't recycled air, but this musty-smelling reek hardly qualified as –

"Damn!"

His foot slipped on the slimy rock, and to avoid landing with his butt on the ground he put out a quick hand to the rock wall, scraping its palm on the rough surface.

Malcolm jerked his head at Trip's muttered curse. "Everything all right?"

"Sure," Trip bit out through gritted teeth. "I cut my hand open and might get poisoned by some deadly alien bacteria, but otherwise everything's just peachy."

The cone of light from Malcolm's flashlight danced around Trip's midsection as it looked for the injured appendage, finally settling on its target. "Let me see," Malcolm said in commanding tones.

Pulling back, Trip huffed. "Malcolm, I was joking. It's only a scratch."

Malcolm raised his flashlight to just below Trip's gaze, and Trip did the same, managing to illuminate steely and unrelenting grey eyes.

"All the same, Commander, would you please…"

"Is there a problem?" Archer who had been a few metres behind them interrupted, coming up and moving his own torch from one officer to the other, careful not to blind them.

"I scraped my hand against the rock wall, that's all," Trip said sullenly. He reluctantly showed the Captain the bloodied palm of his left hand.

"It would be advisable to disinfect and bandage the wound," The-Voice-of-Logic supplied, joining them.

Trip rolled his eyes, truly hoping his pissed-off expression would come across even in the semi-darkness. "This is hardly a _wound_ , T'Pol," he said flatly. "And…"

"Shut up, Trip; she's right," Archer decreed, proceeding to fish out a med-kit from the backpack he had lowered to the ground. "Scout ahead, Malcolm" he added, with a glance at Reed. "This tunnel seems to be getting narrower and steeper. If it keeps that way, we might want to explore another section of these caves. It's not as if there's no choice, after all. I don't want to risk anyone's neck."

"Aye, Sir."

As a peace gesture Malcolm offered Trip his canteen, and he accepted it with a wry, lopsided smirk, reaching out for it with his right hand while at the same time he stretched his left arm towards T'Pol, to allow her to dress his _wound_. Before taking a swig he watched the Lieutenant move off and followed for a moment the dancing light of his flashlight, as it faded and disappeared with the man around the next bend.

It was when T'Pol's eyes went wider and became subtly expressive that Trip first realised that something was wrong. A second later came a low rumble and slight quivering under his feet.

"What the hell...?" he exclaimed.

Archer, his brow furrowed, turned abruptly to his Science Officer, who was already checking her instruments.

"We must leave the caves at once," T'Pol said in the direct tone of voice Trip had learnt to be the Vulcan equivalent of urgency. "I am reading seismic activity."

"Malcolm…" Trip said tautly, jerking his head towards the dark tunnel where the Lieutenant had disappeared. A more perceptible jolt sent his heart a couple of floors up, to some place at the base of his neck.

"Go. Now," Archer barked, reaching for his communicator as they took off. "Archer to Reed," he paged without stopping.

"I've felt it, Sir," Malcolm's voice came back.

"We need to get the hell out of here," Archer shouted as the ground shook again, setting small rocks rolling.

There was a seemingly interminable delay – in fact no more than two or three seconds – before Malcolm's reply. "Acknowledged. I'll be right behind you," his voice finally crackled out.

Trip's attention was briefly caught by the edge that, even through the communicator, rang clear in his friend's voice. But another, more violent shock brought his focus dramatically back on his personal predicament as he and the others were sent off-balance and crashing against the rock wall.

"You ok?" he asked T'Pol waveringly, helping the fallen Vulcan back to her feet.

"Go, go!" Archer ordered, urging them – if indeed there was any need – not to waste any time.

They took off again, arms over their heads to protect themselves as best they could from any falling debris. Trip heard coughing behind them and turned to see a light dancing in the distance: Malcolm. He prayed that his friend's much envied nimbleness would serve him well and allow him to catch up with them.

The ground was now moving constantly in a swaying motion, and the more sandy parts of the cave began to crumble, filling the air with dust, which made them wheeze and cough, and got into their eyes.

Trip's own eyes were watering, but through the mist of his tears he managed to see the mouth of the cave appear, some ten meters beyond Archer and T'Pol. "Almost there!" the Captain shouted to him over his shoulder. T'Pol was already reaching the outside. Good to have that Vulcan extra strength.

Suddenly a violent jolt sent Trip to his knees. A moment later a thunderous sound made him roll up instinctively into a ball, and cover his head with both arms.

"Trip, get up!" Archer cried out, panic in his voice. "Get to your feet, dammit!"

Startled out of his immobility, Trip pushed to his feet just as the tunnel behind him began to collapse. He watched the scene in horror, frozen in place, an icy knot forming in his gut as the light from Malcolm's flashlight disappeared behind the falling debris. He wanted to cry out, but his mouth had gone completely dry and his tongue was stuck to his palate.

"Trip!"

Archer's voice was desperate, and Trip turned to see him standing a few meters outside the cave, with T'Pol holding him back by one arm. He stared at them for a couple of seconds; then swivelled once more to the other side, unsure of what to do. He could hear Malcolm's muffled coughing, and through the dust he could see that the tunnel was now partially obstructed - too obstructed for a man to pass. His heart was thumping painfully in his chest. Safety on one side, a friend trapped on the other. _Trapped_. His feet were still stuck to the ground and his mind fogged. Seconds, perhaps minutes, went by - he didn't know. All he knew was that his pulse and breathing were out of control.

"Can you see him?"

Archer's voice caught his attention again. He turned to see the Captain approaching with tentative steps, and suddenly realised that the tremor that shook his body was no longer a consequence of the quivering ground but of his own shock and fear. The earthquake seemed to have stopped. T'Pol had remained outside, and was concentrating on her scanner.

Trip wiped a shaky hand over his tearing eyes. "No," he replied, his voice no steadier than his limbs. _Get a grip_ , he told himself. Feeling grit in his throat, he wrapped an arm over his nose and mouth to filter out the dust that was hanging thick in the air.

"I'm here."

Malcolm's voice sounded damped, and a moment later the man had given in to another fit of coughing. Trip started back in his direction, moving his flashlight to inspect the mountain of debris. He found an opening, and directed the light through it.

"Are you injured?" he called. But Malcolm was still too busy coughing up his lungs to reply.

"The tunnel's virtually obstructed, Capt'n," Trip shouted tensely over his shoulder to Archer, who was still advancing slowly. "Malcolm's trapped…"

_Trapped_.

Trip's mind reeled. They'd been tipsy that night, yet…

"I'm fine, for the moment," Malcolm choked out, interrupting his thoughts. He sounded out of breath, and Trip suddenly feared it wasn't only because of the running or the coughing.

"Get out of here and make sure the seismic activity has ended, before you try to free me," Malcolm added in a taut, throaty voice.

Trip swallowed hard.

The cone of light from Archer's light was already becoming more focussed, signalling his proximity, when T'Pol's voice rang out, uncharacteristically loud. "Captain, it's resuming!"

Trip's head snapped back to her.

"Out!" Archer barked, back-pedalling as the ground started quivering again.

"Malcolm!" Trip shouted back to him as his breathing got ragged with alarm and uncertainty.

"We'll come back for him. Out! That's an order!"

"You heard the Captain, Trip, go!"

Trip bit his lip, torn between self-preservation and... Dammit, but he couldn't go. He'd promised…

He turned to see Archer reaching safety and almost gave in to his legs, which really wanted to take off at a run after him. A harder jolt, though, made the decision for him: the mouth of the cave came crumbling down, and as Trip instinctively crouched in a protective stance, he watched in horror as his crewmates disappeared like actors behind the final curtain.


	2. Chapter 2

  * 2 §



Trip's heart was trying to escape his ribcage and take permanent residence in his throat. And his throat at the moment was not a fun place to be. On his haunches, leaning with his back against the rock wall, Trip tried to control his coughing, but the dust in the air was thick. It was a few long minutes - in which he truly thought he'd choke to death - before it finally began to settle and he was able to breathe somewhat easier.

Eyes scrunched closed, Trip took stock of the pains and aches in his body. It appeared that he had been quite lucky - if his current predicament warranted the use of that word. Despite having been pelted with debris he seemed to be still in one piece. Grazes and bruises he could live with, he mulled as he felt a few tender spots.

Darkness and silence surrounded him. A bit too much of both.

"Malcolm?" he called in a choked voice. There was no reply. Trip felt his chest constrict with added worry.

His flashlight. Where was the damned thing? He'd probably dropped it when he had crouched and tried to protect his head with his hands. It took a bit of groping around, but he finally stumbled upon it.

When the beam of light came on – luckily it did – and he moved it around to reveal his surroundings, Trip felt his gut clench. He was in a small enclosure – hardly big enough for two people – cluttered with fallen rocks and sand. A wall of debris cut him off from the outside. Another wall cut him off from the rest of the tunnel and Malcolm. Trying to control his breathing, which was still annoyingly unruly, Trip inspected the two obstructions more thoroughly. The one between him and the outside was practically a solid barrier. On the other side things were a little better, in that he could see a few gaps in between some bigger rocks; nothing large enough for a man to pass through, though. He scrambled onto his knees and peered through them, holding the light closer. He couldn't see much, only more debris.

"Malcolm?" he called again, more loudly. The silence that answered him sent his anxiety spiking.

Suddenly there was a chirping sound. His communicator. At least he wasn't _completely_ cut off, he mulled, feeling a trace of relief. Unzipping his arm pocket, he took out the small device that, at the moment, was his only link with the rest of the universe.

"Tucker," he said, forcing his voice to sound calmer than he felt.

"Trip, are you ok?" Archer replied, not so calmly himself.

"Yeah. Just a few scratches and bruises. Nothin' serious."

"What's your status?"

Trip glanced once again around himself, moving the beam of light. "I'm pinned in a rather cramped space, cut-off both from the outside and Malcolm."

"I can't raise Malcolm," Archer said tautly. "His communicator is dead."

Trip winced at the choice of word. "He's not answerin' my calls either, Capt'n."

There was a pause.

"All right. This is what I want you to do," Archer finally came back in a firm voice. "Check if there is any chance you could dig your way through to Malcolm. But don't actually do anything yet. We might be able to use the transporter."

Trip pursed his lips. He wouldn't bet on the transporter to work this far inside a cave. But he dutifully replied 'Aye, Sir'.

Archer, of course, heard the doubt in his voice, for before signing off he felt the need to add, "Don't worry, Trip. We'll get you both out of there, I promise."

Twisting his mouth, Trip gave a soft, mirtheless snort. "That's a dangerous thing to say, actually," he muttered to himself as he flipped the communicator shut.

Zipping up the arm pocket where he had safely put the device away, Trip raised his flashlight once more to the rubble separating him from Malcolm. He inspected every centimetre of it, taking note of the slightly bigger gaps. Sure, if he had to, he could try and widen one of them. But if he was honest he'd rather not shift any of the debris; it seemed a risky thing to do. Take away the wrong piece of rock and everything might collapse. Although Malcolm might even be…

Trip scrunched his eyes closed, chasing the thought away. "Malcolm..." he called again, loud enough to make his ears ring; but no answer came.

Sighing, Trip dropped to a sitting position and let his head fall back against the rock wall.

* * *

Archer flipped his communicator open before it had had the time to chirp twice. The bridge had just beaten him to this hail.

"Archer."

"Captain," Mayweather said in an unsmiling tone. "We registered some seismic activity on the planet. Everything ok?"

Archer pulled with a hand on his neck, feeling the tension there. "Not quite, Travis," he replied with a grimace. "Trip and Malcolm were caught in a cave in. I was just about to contact you. I want you to check if we can lock onto their bio signs to transport them out."

"Right away, Sir."

Exhaling a tense breath, Archer waited for a reply while he let his gaze trail to T'Pol, who was still calmly keeping the situation monitored through her hand-scanner. In moments like these her Vulcan poise only served to make him more fidgety, and he had to restrain a sudden urge to pace.

As if she sensed she was being observed, T'Pol raised her eyes. "The tremor seems to have stopped, Captain," she reported. Blinking once, she added pointedly, "For the moment."

Archer nodded in acknowledgement. "Come on, Travis," he ranted under his breath. Just then a deep voice floated out of his comm. device.

"Müller here, Captain. Lieutenant Hess tells me that we have no problems locking onto Commander Tucker's bio signs; but Lieutenant Reed is too far inside the cave."

Archer's facial muscles tensed. "Thank you, Ensign. Keep the transporter locked on the Commander, and stand by for orders. Archer out." He turned to his Science Officer and enquired, "Any ideas?" He felt the urge to specify, 'To get them _both_ out alive', but restrained himself. After two years serving with him, T'Pol would know how he felt about the 'needs of the many'.

The Vulcan Officer raised her eyebrows. "This system of caves is intricate and large. It is very likely that there are some other entrances to it, Captain. I noticed a number of tunnels fanning out from the one we explored. Perhaps we can gain access to one of them and get to Lieutenant Reed that way."

"Sounds like a plan," Archer said, his brow knit in concern.

"I should return to Enterprise," T'Pol announced tersely.

Dark unwavering eyes bore into him, and Archer pursed his lips. He knew what T'Pol meant. Here she had no instruments with which to work. Well, what options did they have? Not many, that he could think of. He couldn't exactly blow up the mountain to get to his Armoury Officer. Even though said Officer would have probably considered it a viable option, had the roles been reversed.

Brow still furrowed, he gave a curt nod. "Get transported up and get onto it."

T'Pol hesitated a moment, then said, "Captain, there is nothing you can do here."

Archer stood straight. "You have your orders, Subcommander." Then, more gently he added, "It would be illogical for me to return to the ship: we might be mounting a rescue mission soon." He knew this argument might convince her better than admitting that his going back to the ship would feel like abandoning his friends.

"You are aware of Starfleet regulations, Captain," the Vulcan replied impassively. "You cannot be away from the ship alone."

Archer raised one eyebrow. "Technically I am not. Trip and Malcolm are on the planet's surface too." Knowing how weak this sounded, he added not unkindly, "Your concern is noted, Subcommander. Would you now please obey your orders?"

T'Pol looked at him for a moment; then tilted her head in graceful acknowledgement. She got her communicator out and it wasn't long before she had dematerialised.

* * *

A low moan made Trip's head jerk up. Another one sent him scrambling on all fours to the wall that separated him from Malcolm. No sound could be more welcome to his ears at the moment.

"Malcolm?"

Trip directed the flashlight's beam through the gaps again, scanning the area. He thought he detected some movement and pointed the light in that direction.

"Malcolm, can you hear me?"

Sandy rubble shifted, and a blue-uniformed leg appeared. Then more of Malcolm's body emerged. Trip ran the light up along it, but he could only see up to part of Malcolm's trunk; the rest of him was hidden from view, behind – hopefully not under – some more debris: Trip could not tell if or how much of his friend was buried.

There was another small movement, this one followed by a sharp intake of breath; then by some ragged breathing. An icy knot formed in the pit of Trip's stomach, and he instantly regretted the thought he'd just had moments before: silence might have been worrisome, but hearing this was not much better. Malcolm sounded badly injured, and here he was, barely a couple of meters from him and unable to do anything.

"Malcolm?" he called again, keeping the light pointed on what he could see of him.

The breathing went on hold for a moment before a strained voice choked out, "Trip? Where… are you?"

"Not very far, but I'm cut off from you by a big pile of debris."

Malcolm bent a knee, raising one leg; then moved his hips, and a groan of pain ensued.

"Easy, easy," Trip said tautly, watching his friend's lower body jerk back to its earlier position and his ribcage contract and expand in rhythm with the strained sounds that floated back to him. "What's your status?" No answer came. Trip felt his heart pick up speed.

"Malcolm?" he called again, "How badly injured are you?"

Malcolm's breathing was still coming in laboured gasps. With his left, bandaged hand flat against the rocks dividing them, Trip leaned his forehead on it and closed his eyes, heart thumping as he waited for a reply that wasn't coming. Interminable seconds ticked by.

"Malcolm!"

"Who…? Trip… is that you?"

_Damn_.

"Yeah, I'm here," Trip hurried to reply, wanting to hold his friend's focus. "But I can't reach you. There is rubble between us."

"Ru… rubble?"

Trip forced his brain to work fast. "Did you hit your head?" he asked. Malcolm definitely sounded confused.

There was a pause. "Don't know," Malcolm finally replied, in an accent that was a bit thick for the man. "I think…" Some more shifting was followed by a sharp cry that made Trip's stomach clench and his hand instinctively roll up into a tight fist.

"Easy! Don't move too much," he said in earnest, peering through the gaps again. "Just… just see if you can figure out how badly injured you are," he added gently.

Again there was no answer; only stifled grunts as Malcolm obviously endured the aftermath of the stab of pain he had caused himself. Trip waited patiently for the choked sounds to subside. Ages later they finally did.

"Lieutenant," Trip tried, hoping rank would help get Malcolm's attention.

"C… Captain?"

Trip cursed under his breath. Concussion it was. "It's Trip, Malcolm," he repeated, feigning a calm that he didn't feel.

"Where are we?" Malcolm asked warily after a beat.

"We were explorin' some caves, remember? There was an earthquake and part of the tunnels collapsed. The Capt'n's gonna get us out, he's workin' on it already," Trip said firmly, trying to sound reassuring. He had somehow to summon strength for both of them. "How're you doin'? What hurts?"

Silence. Just when Trip was thinking he'd get nowhere, Malcolm spoke.

"My left shoulder and arm are… pinned under something heavy," he said through gritted teeth.

For the first time he had sounded a little bit more with it, and Trip held on tight to that strand of hope. "Do you think anything's broken?" he asked, bracing for an answer he feared he already knew.

Uneven breathing was all that could be heard for another long moment. Trip swallowed and waited, reminding himself that a concussion and pain would certainly slow Malcolm's reaction time.

"Bloody well likely," Malcolm eventually choked out. "Hurts like hell…"


	3. Chapter 3

  * 3 §



Archer turned back to the cave and reached for his own comm. device again. "You there, Trip?"

"Yeah, I liked the place and decided to stay, Capt'n."

Trust Trip to try and make light of the situation. But actually there was an undercurrent in his voice that Archer didn't miss, and didn't like one bit.

"Have you been able to contact Malcolm?"

"He's half-buried under the debris, Sir," Trip murmured back. "He's injured, although I can't tell how seriously, and confused. Don't need to be a doctor to know that he hit his head pretty bad and suffered a concussion."

The words had been spoken in a quieter tone, clearly meant not to be overheard by the person in question. Archer closed his eyes. "We can transport you out, Trip, but not Malcolm," he finally said, lowering his own voice. "He's too far inside. We can't read his bio signs, and still can't reach his communicator."

"It's probably broken. Apparently his left arm and shoulder are pinned under some rubble." Before Archer could add anything to that, Trip went on firmly, "And I hope you're not askin' me to leave him here, 'cause I'm not ready to, Capt'n."

Archer pinched the bridge of his nose. Well, he hadn't expected any different. "All right, not just yet," he agreed hoarsely. "T'Pol is checking if there is a way to get to Malcolm by gaining entrance to the cave through some other access," he added. "But if that fails... Did you check what I asked you? Would it be possible for you to dig an opening big enough to get to him?"

"Yeah, but I'd leave that as our last resort."

"If you could drag him to where you are now, we would be able to transport both of you out."

"Looks damn tricky. I might cause more rocks to fall on him."

Archer could almost see Trip shake his head. He drew in a deep breath. "All right. Let's see if T'Pol's plan works first." He paused. "I'm keeping the transporter locked on you, Commander," he then added meaningfully. "At the slightest sign of trouble you're out of there." Trip had to know that if bad came to worse, his Captain wouldn't hesitate.

The 'Aye, Sir' which floated dejectedly out of his communicator made Archer's chest constrict. He fervently hoped he wouldn't have to give the order to leave Malcolm inside this damn mountain.

"You know what to do, with someone showing the symptoms of a concussion," Archer said, more to steer their thoughts away from the pessimistic direction they had taken than for anything else. Trip, after all, was well-trained and conscientious.

"Yes, Sir. Try and keep them alert." There was a pause. "I'm worried about him, Capt'n," Trip's voice then added. "Crush injuries can be pretty serious."

Archer grimaced. "I know. Do what you can to take care of the both of you, Trip. I'll get back to you as soon as I have some news. Archer out."

* * *

As soon as he flipped his communicator shut, Trip's focus returned on the silence that surrounded him. Or rather, on the muffled sounds that came from the other side of the rubble. They were quite eloquent. Even without seeing Malcolm, he could tell that his friend was still awake, and struggling to be his usual stoic self.

"I won't think less of you if you let out a few groans," Trip said, hoping to get past Malcolm's pride. These were difficult circumstances. The man shouldn't ask too much of himself.

Just when the long silence was beginning to make Trip think that his friend was too confused to have understood him, his quiet reply drifted back.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"And neither should you – think less of yourself if you can't keep it all in," Trip pressed. "No need to play hero, Malcolm." He waited, frowning as he fidgeted with the bandage T'Pol had applied to his injured hand. Damn these long pauses…

"Thought you were the one playing hero," Malcolm eventually replied through gritted teeth. "You should transport out. There's nothing you can do for me anyway."

So Malcolm had heard. Trip wondered if his friend remembered at all their drunken conversation of those few months back. Under the strain, in Malcolm's voice, he thought he had heard a hint of something. He decided to ignore it and make an effort, instead, to lighten the mood.

"Can't offer ya any beer, unfortunately, but I thought you might prefer a bit of company to bein' all alone."

There was some shifting, followed by a pained groan. Trip bit his lip. Seconds ticked by.

"Company without any beer? Not much fun," Malcolm said at length in a throaty voice.

Trip allowed himself a bittersweet smile.

"But you're right… it's better than being alone," Malcolm added after another moment. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok."

Pushing from a sitting position back onto his knees, Trip switched on his flashlight again, which he had turned off to conserve energy, and returned to peer through the wall of debris. He didn't really know why he had felt the need to do that; he had acted on the rather irrational impulse of wanting to establish visual contact with his friend even though he knew his face was hidden from view. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the slight but perceptible tremor that was running through Malcolm's body. Was it caused by fear and pain, or was the man going into shock?

Damn, but they couldn't afford to wait for T'Pol. Plan B suddenly seemed like a good idea. Malcolm might be more seriously injured than he let understand.

"So," Trip said in a deceivingly light voice while he inspected once again the barrier between them, "Any progress with your EM field research?" If he needed to keep Malcolm alert, this particular subject might stir him enough to draw him into a conversation.

"Wh- what?"

Trip ignored the halting reply and continued, "I wasn't exactly in a position to appreciate your application of it, the time when that alien creature stole a ride in our cargo bay. But T'Pol told me all about it. And when she's impressed by something, I know it's for a good reason."

Moving his hand over a few rocks, Trip tried to assess their size and stability. If he was going to make a passage it should be on the side of Malcolm's feet, he decided. His friend was lying at an angle about two meters away from the debris; far enough that he could not reach to touch him, but still close enough to risk being hit by any rubble that Trip might cause to fall. Trip wasn't going to take any chances. Finally he spotted a place where, with a bit of careful work, he might get some results. Ears still focussed on the sounds coming from the other side of the partition, he shifted nearer to the spot to get a closer look.

"Isn't there an easier subject of conversation?" Malcolm grunted.

"What, easier than T'Pol?"

Something sounding like a choked huff of a laugh rewarded Trip's attempt at humour.

_That's it, Lieutenant, hold on_.

* * *

"T'Pol to Archer."

Archer mentally crossed his fingers. "Go ahead."

"Captain, our scanners unfortunately show that many of the tunnels in the part of the caves where Lieutenant Reed is trapped are obstructed as well. I am trying to assess with Ensign Müller how risky it would be to use low-yield explosives to get past some of those barriers."

_Damn_ , Archer silently cursed. "All right. But try and do it quickly."

Puffing out a tense breath, Archer grimaced. One way or the other this rescue was going to be a risky affair... well then, they might as well get started.

"Trip," he paged.

"Yeah, Capt'n."

Archer flinched at the uncharacteristically dark tone. "I don't think T'Pol's plan will be feasible. I want you to try and dig a passage to Malcolm," he said. "Right now that looks like our best option."

"Actually, Sir, I took the liberty of starting already," Trip replied. "Figured it was a good idea."

Archer heard the unspoken message in his friend's careful words and scrunched his eyes shut. Malcolm's condition must be serious, or worsening. "You'll need help and supplies," he said. "I'll send down a couple of people, support beams…"

"Woa, Cap'tn," Trip interrupted him. "There is barely enough room for myself down here."

"Dammit," Archer cursed under his breath.

"But I could use a shovel, some kind of worklight and, since you're at it, water."

"You got it," Archer agreed tensely. "Keep me informed."

"Aye, Capt'n."

* * *

"Water…"

Trip zipped up the pocket where he'd put his communicator away and jerked back to the debris separating him from Malcolm. The word had been seeped in despair. Quite unlike the man. Trip felt anxiousness grip him, but forced it away.

"Yeah, I just ordered some, Malcolm," he said gently. "I'll get it to you as soon as I can. But first I need to dig a gap big enough so that I can pass through."

The breathing on the other side of the partition got fast and furious.

Trip raked a concerned hand through his damp hair. "Easy, easy… If you breathe too fast you'll only…"

"Too bloody much of it…. It's rising!"

Trip's pulse accelerated. Water, rising? Was there water filtering through? That's all they needed.

"Where?" he asked tensely, shoving the flashlight closer to the slightly enlarged gap and peering through.

"All over… It's flooding the compartment!"

"What?" The place was as dry as a desert. But somehow it wasn't that much of a relief to find out. "What are you talkin' about?"

"We're sinking... The ice-shelf… Get to the escape pods!"

Trip frowned. "There is no water, Malcolm, relax."

But neither the words nor Trip's resolute tone had any effect. "Go! That's an order!" Malcolm said in a commanding tone that held a wiry undercurrent of fear.

"I'm not goin' anywhere," Trip replied firmly, feeling like an idiot as he spoke – not only had he no clue what Malcolm's delirious words were all about, but the man was quite clearly in no state to understand him.

"Must keep the engine running…"

Trip felt the anguish like a presence, beginning to infect him. Suddenly the space around him seemed too small and cramped, the darkness too oppressing. An icy knot formed in his gut and he felt panic rise. He had to stop this.

"That's enough, Lieutenant!" he barked, relying on the man's ingrained discipline to help him. Blessedly, it did.

"S… Sir?"

What 'Sir' was his raving friend thinking he was addressing? Some Royal Navy Officer, by the sound of it. Trip opened his mouth to reply, but words failed him. What was he going to say, anyway? Bite out another order? Haul down the flag? He was no sailor, dammit. He wiped a sleeve on his sweaty brow; then let his forehead rest against the rock wall and closed his eyes, as he tried to regain control over his emotions and accelerated pulse. It wouldn't exactly be smart if he hyperventilated himself unconscious. He became so focussed on himself that he actually lost track of time. When he raised his head again, he didn't know how many minutes had passed.

"Malcolm?" he called. No reply came. In fact, now that he actively listened, he couldn't hear a damn thing, as in 'not a sound'. No laboured breathing, no muffled grunts, no shifting…

Trip almost banged a hand on the mound of rubble that cut him off from his friend, stopping at the last minute. That wouldn't be smart either. He should rather get back to work, and fast.

Just then a shovel, a self-enclosed worklight and two canteens materialised not far from him.


	4. Chapter 4

  * 4 §



The going was slow, but Trip wasn't ready to take chances. If he made the wrong move he could nullify his progress so far and have to start from zero again; not to mention that he might cause more debris to fall on Malcolm. As he threw aside the rock he had carefully removed, Trip heaved a deep breath, fighting the desire to hurry.

His left hand was beginning to hurt. Well, this wasn't exactly a sterile environment, and the bandage T'Pol had applied had gotten filthy. Great. He was probably going to give some of Phlox's creatures a good time, once they were back.

And it was damn hot and stuffy. Unzipping the top of his uniform, Trip got out of the sleeves and tied them in a knot around his waist. Then he reached for one of the canteens and took a couple of long gulps, relishing the feeling of water running down his dry throat. He wished he could give Malcolm that small comfort too.

A hiss of pain made his eyes go wide. He had eagerly waited for a sign of life from the other side of the rubble. Yes, no matter how pained. It was definitely better to hear Malcolm hiss in pain than the disquieting silence of the past half hour. He carefully capped the canteen and wiped an arm over his mouth.

"Malcolm, can you hear me?"

"Would appear so," Malcolm choked out. "What… are you doing?" he added haltingly.

"Digging you out, Lieutenant."

There was a pause.

"What happened?"

Trip, who had already heaved a relieved breath, frowned: not that damn confusion again…

"We were caught in a cave-in," he started patiently.

Malcolm grunted. "Really? You don't say."

Trip's mouth curved up in a pale smile of relief. "Ya took a trip to lala land," he re-phrased, guessing that was what Malcolm had wanted to know. He wasn't going to tell him that his trip to lala land had begun even before he'd lost consciousness. Focussing back on his task, he pulled tentatively on a large piece of rock: it seemed he could move it without risking causing an avalanche.

"Looks like we won't need that sun lotion after all," he commented, to fill the silence.

It was not easy to keep a conversation going while doing a delicate job that would have required all of his concentration, but Trip was determined not to let Malcolm fade away again.

"Right. Not much sun in here," Malcolm agreed hoarsely. "Not much… room either," he added in a voice that shook slightly with the shivers that racked him.

Trip raised his head from the task at hand and stopped a moment, grimacing. It was the first time Malcolm had hinted at being trapped in a cramped space. An image of them holding glasses filled with Andorian ale flashed through his mind, as memories of a related conversation flickered past.

"You won't be there for long," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "I'm working at it."

"Bloody hell," Malcolm breathed out, "I wish I could… change position."

"Hurts that bad?"

Trip heard some movement, followed by a groan that spoke volumes.

"I see… stars if I shift… even slightly."

It was quite obvious that Malcolm was 'seeing stars' even if he didn't move at all. Trip let out a frustrated huff. "If only I could reach to touch your leg, I could have a hypospray of painkiller transported. But..."

A sudden thought struck him.

"Wait a minute!"

* * *

"Are you sure Malcolm will be able to inject himself?"

"Yes. His right arm is free and uninjured. Believe me, Capt'n, it's the only way, and Malcolm can really use a dose of painkiller …"

Archer, who, after deciding with T'Pol that her plan could not be implemented, had reluctantly agreed to return to Enterprise, pursed his lips. "All right, Trip," he replied after just a brief hesitation. "This crewmember never received any training in rescue operations, but I suppose he'll manage."

"Piece of cake. Honestly, Sir."

"I'll tell Phlox to get a hypospray ready."

Before signing off, Archer leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on the desk. "How are you doing, Commander?" he enquired directly. He hadn't missed out on the tension in his Chief Engineer's voice.

"After this away mission I hope you'll grant me some R&R, Capt'n."

Trip's light tone was so obviously forced that Archer closed his eyes, willing to re-open them and find he had just been dreaming.

"Somewhere on a sandy beach?" he asked, going along.

"Anywhere but inside a damn cave."

Archer frowned in concern. "How long till that gap is big enough for you to get Malcolm out?" He heard the other man blow out a breath.

"I don't know, an hour, maybe. I'd better get back to work. Get me that painkiller, Capt'n. The sooner the better."

"I'm on it; tell Malcolm to hold on. Archer out."

* * *

A restrained grunt now punctuated every second breath that Malcolm took. Trip could hear that his endurance was weakening, but there was still nothing he could do for him, so he willed himself not to be distracted from his job. It was the best he could do.

Removing yet another bit of rubble, Trip shoved it hastily behind him. "When we're back on Enterprise the Doc'll probably lock you in sickbay and throw away the key," he blurted out. The words had hardly left his mouth that he felt like slapping himself. Why the heck had he said such a stupid thing? To Malcolm, of all people... He must be getting tired.

Just as he had expected, though, a reply made itself rare. Trip hated these long pauses. They left him wondering if Malcolm was still with him. He bit his lip and couldn't stop himself from picking up his flashlight, which he had turned off after he had received the worklight, and once again searching the other side of the rubble. Malcolm's shivering had gotten more pronounced. Trip wished he could make eye contact with the man.

"Sickbay sounds nice," Malcolm suddenly mumbled.

Trip's heart clenched. "The painkiller will be here soon; just hold on a little longer."

A single, slurred word drifted back to him. "Cold…"

"You're injured…" Trip swallowed hard.

Another interminable pause.

"And, don't forget," he went on, suddenly feeling an urge to speak over the strained sounds so he wouldn't hear them, "Ya have been lyin' still for more than…"

"Get me out!"

The unexpected cry startled him. Panic was so alien to Malcolm's usually quiet and controlled voice that Trip's worry grew exponentially.

"Easy, Lieutenant," he urged.

"It's stuck! I'm trapped... Call mother!"

Trip scrunched his eyes closed. _Come on, Capt'n, get a move on…_

* * *

Archer walked into Sickbay to find Phlox waiting for him with professional concern painted all over his face.

"Do you have everything ready?" Archer asked.

The Denobulan nodded. "A hypospray with a mild dosage of painkiller, and…"

"Mild?" Archer's brow creased in puzzlement. "Trip tells me Malcolm is in a lot of pain, Doctor."

"Mr Reed has likely suffered a rather severe concussion," Phlox explained, jerking his chin down and back and sounding a bit pissed off at having been interrupted. "I can't risk medicating him too heavily until I can assess his condition." In a gentler tone he added, "I know what I'm doing, Captain."

"Alright, Doc, I'm sorry," Archer said, straightening his shoulders. "Go on."

"I'll also send down a medical scanner. If I can get a few readings before Mr Reed is moved, it would be quite helpful," Phlox said, his blue eyes darker than usual.

"Right. Let's get on with it, then," Archer said firmly. "Lieutenant Hess is waiting for us in the transporter room."

Their gazes converged of their own accord on the member of the crew chosen to accomplish this mission. He sat on a biobed, seemingly unconcerned about what he was going to get into.

* * *

Trip heard a sound and turned to see his special delivery looking at him.

"About time you got here," he greeted him, his tension easing fractionally.

"Here, Porthos."

The beagle didn't need to be asked twice and ran happily into his lap. Just then Trip's communicator chirped.

"Betcha that's Jon checking on ya." Trip flipped the device open with one hand while scratching Porthos's head with the other. "He arrived safe and sound, Capt'n," he said, anticipating Archer's enquiry.

"Good."

Even through the comm. Trip heard his Captain exhale the breath he'd obviously been holding.

"In the pouch strapped to him you'll find a hypospray of painkiller," Archer continued. "Phlox says a mild dosage is all he wants to give Malcolm for now. He doesn't want him too sedated. We also sent down a medical scanner. The Doc wouldn't mind getting an idea of Malcolm's injuries, before you try and move him."

"Understood. I'll be in touch. Tucker out."

Trip knew he had been a little on the terse side, but he was eager to get under way. He needed Malcolm's collaboration for this, and the man had been drifting in and out of his confused state. Trip was afraid that at any moment he might lose his lucidity for good.

"You're about to earn your degree as a rescue dog," Trip told Porthos as he briefly checked the contents of his pouch. Porthos just looked at him with big, brown eyes, so Trip took him by the collar and brought him close to the hole he'd been digging. The beagle was agitated. He seemed to sense that something was wrong. Trip stroked his head and back, trying to calm him down.

"Malcolm?" he called.

"Hmm…"

"Can you understand me?"

"Most of the time."

Trip allowed himself a small grin. The accent might not be sharp as usual, but that was Malcolm at his sarcastic best.

"I'm sending Porthos to you. There's a bag strapped to him, with the hypo of painkiller and a med scan. D'ya think you could take a few readings for the Doc? "

Without waiting for a reply – Malcolm didn't sound as if he had enough breath for one right now – he released Porthos's collar and nudged him towards the hole.

"Find Malcolm, Porthos. Go!"

The beagle took a look at the dark opening and sat down, whimpering.

"Come on, Porthos," Trip encouraged him, "Don't you want to be the Rin Tin Tin of the situation? Go to Malcolm!" Trip lifted the dog bodily and started putting his front paws across the hole.

"Bloody hell," Malcolm choked out just then, "Come, Porthos!"

That did it. The beagle wriggled out of Trip's hands and jumped through the hole like a circus dog.

Trip rolled his eyes. "What is it that you did that I didn't, Malcolm?" he ranted in jest, relieved that his plan seemed to be working.

"Good boy," Malcolm's strained voice floated back. "Sit."

"Can you manage?"

A moment later Trip heard the hiss of a hypospray being emptied; not long afterwards came a groan that for once expressed something other than pain.

"Better?" Trip wiped an arm over his sweaty brow. His tense body was beginning to ache.

"Thank God for painkillers," Malcolm mumbled weakly.

Too weakly.

Trip immediately grabbed the flashlight and searched the other side of the partition. Porthos's bottom and wagging tail were in full view. "Hey, I wouldn't mind you stayin' awake, Lieutenant," he urged. "You hear me? I'm not comfortable with you goin' to sleep with a head injury. I'd much rather you did that in sickbay, where Phlox can keep an eye on you."

There was a moan. "How could I sleep, with Porthos thinking I'm an ice-cream cone?"

Malcolm's light tone wavered with the shivers that still shook him, which prompted Trip to ignore his sore muscles and return to his task.

"Take those readings for Phlox," he ordered as he studied a rather large rock. Should he try to remove it? If he succeeded, the opening would probably be big enough to pass through. When he gave it a tentative pull, to see if he could shift it at all, it moved, sending some smaller rubble crumbling down. It might be feasible, though... Trip was tempted to try.

"Enough, Porthos," Malcolm complained faintly. "Stop washing my face."

Trip's mouth curved up in a smile, which didn't last long.

"Looks like both my collarbone and left arm are broken," Malcolm said in a deep voice. "The arm fracture is compound."

"Dammit." Trip passed a worried hand over his jaw. "Put the scanner back in Porthos's bag. I'll send the information up to the Doc."

A moment later, called back, the beagle reappeared with his precious cargo. Trip glanced at the readings and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was no doctor, but Malcolm's arm didn't look good.

"Trip…"

"Yeah."

"D'you think Porthos could bring me some water?"

Malcolm's accent was getting increasingly slurred; undoubtedly the sudden respite from pain was getting him drowsy.

There was a soft bark.

"Did you hear that, Lieutenant? No problem."


	5. Chapter 5

  * 5 §



"Broken bones are never good news, Captain," Phlox said, holding his chin, "But a compound fracture is particularly worrisome, as is a crush injury." He frowned, studying the readings Trip had sent up to Enterprise. "If blood is cut off from Mr. Reed's hand... Not to mention that if the compound fracture is open there is a high risk of infection – indeed Mr Reed is already running a fever. His life signs are weak. Plus he definitely suffered a concussion."

Archer bit his lip, leaning with both hands on the nearest biobed.

"I need to tend to him as soon as possible," Phlox concluded darkly.

Archer looked up, wincing. "I'm sure Trip would appreciate if you freshened up his first aid training, Doctor." he said hoarsely.

"Of course." Phlox straightened his shoulders. "Commander Tucker will have to be very careful when he finally moves the Lieutenant. He will need to put his arm in a sling and immobilise it against Mr Reed's body with some bandages."

"Prepare whatever is needed: I'll have it transported down to him."

* * *

As Trip carefully crawled through the finally large enough opening, he braced for what he knew he would have to do. Phlox had instructed him on how to deal with Malcolm's fractured arm, but he wasn't looking forward to that part of this rescue mission. As a member of Starfleet he had received first-aid training, of course, but would have much preferred not having to put any of that into practice.

On the other side of the rubble wall he was greeted by Porthos, who seemed to have grown into his role of rescue dog. The beagle came over to him and gave a small yelp.

"Hello to you too," Trip said, petting him briefly as he raised his flashlight to seek his injured friend.

Desperate to get that last rock out of the way, in the last ten-to-fifteen minutes Trip had concentrated solely on that delicate job, and now he saw that what he had feared had indeed happened: without a conversation going Malcolm had drifted off. He lay with his right arm around the canteen Porthos had brought him, his heaving chest the only sign that he was still alive. When the light hit his face he moaned and shifted slightly, revealing blood-caked hair on the side of his head. Under it, the dirt was darkly stained.

Trip stood up slowly and moved the cone of light towards Malcolm's left shoulder. Part of it and his arm were buried under a fair amount of rubble. At least a couple of larger pieces of debris could be seen among it.

With Porthos at his heels, Trip reached his friend's side and knelt down, putting a hand on his right shoulder. Despite his shivers, Malcolm's body was unnaturally warm.

Trip wondered if he should let him be, while he tried to free his arm. No point getting him conscious for what ought to be a rather painful operation. The Captain had said Phlox had given the man only a mild dosage of painkiller, probably not enough to numb him completely.

"You keep an eye on him, Porthos," Trip told the beagle softly as he lit and positioned the worklight and turned the flashlight off. The dog wagged his tail rather too happily for the circumstances, and sat down obediently near Malcolm's right arm.

After putting the sling and bandages Phlox had sent him within easy reach, Trip began removing some of the dirt and smaller debris. He made good progress, and soon he could see Malcolm's hand. It was white and cold to the touch. Biting his lip, Trip doubled his efforts.

When he finally lifted the first of the bigger rocks, Malcolm stirred, letting out a moan. He cracked his eyes open.

"Sorry, Malcolm," Trip said soulfully, throwing the rock aside.

"Trip?" Grimacing, Malcolm gingerly turned his head to the left, his broken collarbone obviously making that a painful operation. Indeed it seemed that the shot of painkiller Malcolm had injected himself with earlier was not very strong.

"I just have to get one last big rock out of the way, and then your arm will be free," Trip said, studying the object in question. After this was over he didn't want to see or lift another rock for at least six months.

"I'm afraid this is gonna hurt."

Malcolm blinked and looked at him with eyes that even in that harsh light had an unfocussed quality to them.

"Ready?"

No reply came, so Trip grabbed the rock firmly, biting his lip against the stinging in his left hand, and lifted.

Malcolm couldn't repress a cry, and Porthos jumped up, barking.

"Easy, boy," Trip told him, throwing the piece of rubble aside. "I'm not hurtin' Malcolm on purpose."

When Trip dropped on his knees and lowered his eyes on the injured limb, he had to make an effort not to let his feelings show through. The uniform was torn and stained with blood, the arm was at an odd angle, and the white he was seeing could only be… He closed his eyes briefly. Reopening them, he found Malcolm's gaze on him. The man's breathing had gotten more ragged.

"Bad?" Malcolm choked out.

Trip licked his lips. He knew Malcolm well enough to know he wouldn't want to be given the rose-tinted view. "I'd be lying if I told you otherwise," he replied, lifting his eyebrows. "The good news is it looks like no important blood vessels have been damaged. There would be a lot more bleeding, if they had."

Malcolm swallowed and let his eyes drift closed again, and Trip finally allowed himself to rub a concerned hand over his face, reviewing Phlox's instructions in his mind. The wound didn't seem to be bleeding much at the moment, so he should just cover it with a sterile pad. Unzipping the pocket where he'd stored the pad, he removed it, broke its seal and put the gauze gently in place. Now for the difficult part…

"Would you like a drink of water, before I move your arm to immobilise it?" Trip enquired gently.

A slit of blue-grey reappeared. "Wh… what?"

"Are you thirsty?" Trip asked more directly.

There was a beat of silence.

"Let's just... get this over with," Malcolm said, trying to blink away his obvious confusion.

Trip took a deep breath. "Alright."

Steadying himself, he got hold of Malcolm's arm above and below the fracture point and gently lifted. Malcolm jerked and cried out, but Trip kept his cool and carefully brought the limb to rest against the man's body, quickly sliding the sling around it.

His heart thumped loudly in his ears as he watched Malcolm's scrunched-up features and felt his friend's agony through the trembling under the hand he held firmly on the broken arm. He stayed like that for a long moment, afraid to move.

With a grunt, Malcolm finally released the breath he'd been holding. "That drink you offered..." he gasped. "You got anything stronger than water?"

Trip gave him a tense smile, sparing another glance at his pale and sweaty face before returning his full attention to the broken limb. "Sorry," he replied deadpan. "Even if I had, can't let ya get smashed. And with a concussion the Doc doesn't want you too sedated; so, no more painkillers either, for the time being. Besides, I'm afraid I need you awake and cooperative, if we are to get out of here."

"Grand," Malcolm breathed out weakly, his eyelids drooping.

As if he had understood the crunch of the problem, Porthos gave a couple of loud barks, which echoed through the tunnels. Malcolm's eyes startled fully open again.

"That's more like it," Trip said. "You've got to stay awake, Malcolm. Here," he added, taking the man's right hand and placing it gently on his injured arm, "Hold on while I tie your sling."

"Why didn't you… obey the Captain's order… and get the hell out when the earthquake hit?" Malcolm asked haltingly as he carefully rolled a little on his right side to let his broken arm rest more comfortably.

Trip shot him another glance and reached for the bandages Phlox had sent down. Strange Malcolm should bring this up now. In a way Trip was glad to see his friend lucid enough to question him; but this wasn't exactly the right moment to discuss an evening so many months ago which Malcolm probably couldn't even remember.

"I hesitated only a moment, and it was enough," he replied vaguely. Before Malcolm could add anything else, he went on, "I need to strap your arm to your chest with these bandages. I'll try to do that without movin' you too much."

It wasn't easy, but he managed to slip the bandages under Malcolm's body. A few moments later the arm was immobilised, tied above and below the fracture point, as Phlox had told him to do, and Trip felt a weight off his heart. It was a relief to have that done and over with.

"You had… all the time," Malcolm insisted. His eyelids were at half mast again, but he didn't shift his gaze from Trip's, and the grey eyes had a defiant quality to them.

Trip held the gaze for a moment; then gave a hesitant smile. "Accordin' to the Capt'n you aren't very good at countin' time. He still thinks it was twenty seconds before that Romulan mine went off."

Malcolm blinked wearily.

"Hey, no goin' to sleep, remember?" Trip hurried to add. "Come on; let's get you sittin' up. In a few minutes I want us to crawl out of this den."

Kneeling beside him, he placed one hand under Malcolm's head and the other behind his shoulders. "Careful of your collarbone," he said, as much to himself as to Malcolm, preparing to pull him up. "One, two and…"

Another pained grunt sent Porthos on a barking spree.

"Enough, Porthos," Trip ranted. "You're deafenin' us."

Malcolm had gone a shade paler, so Trip quickly let him lean against his own body as he kneeled on the floor behind him. His friend's head fell back limply against his shoulder, giving him a worrisome measure of his state. He touched Malcolm's forehead. It was definitely hot.

"Have some water," Trip said, with gentle firmness. But when he looked around for the canteen, he saw that it was out of reach.

"Porthos," he ordered, tiredness and concern adding a snappiness to his voice that wasn't usually there, "Fetch the water!" He pointed to the flask, and the beagle, to his surprise, grabbed its strap between his teeth and dragged it to him, jumping up against his leg with the strap in his mouth. "Good boy," Trip praised the dog, who wagged his tail enthusiastically.

Trip unscrewed the cap and held out the canteen, but Malcolm pushed it weakly aside. "Don't know if I should drink, actually," he murmured. "I'm feeling quite nauseous."

"Must be your concussion. Maybe just a small sip," Trip suggested.

Just then there was a well-known chirruping sound.

"That's gotta be the Capt'n."

Trip twisted to reach for his communicator. "Tucker."

"What's your status, Trip?"

"I immobilised Malcolm's arm and we're ready to cross to the other side of the debris, Capt'n. Just letting Malcolm here have a breather."

"I'm fine," the man in question protested faintly.

Phlox's voice suggested, "Perhaps I should transport down with a gurney, Commander."

Trip cast a look around him and shook his head. "I told the Capt'n, Doc, there's no room. And the little there is, is cluttered with rubble. But don't worry. We'll be ok."


	6. Chapter 6

  * 6 §



"Captain, I'm detecting seismic activity on the eastern sector of the southern hemisphere," T'Pol reported from her station to Archer, who had just reappeared on the bridge from his ready room with Doctor Phlox in tow.

Archer frowned. "Well, that's – what – at least a couple of thousand kilometres away, isn't it?"

"Approximately two-thousand-five-hundred-and-fifty," the exact Vulcan Officer replied, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean, it can't affect Trip and Malcolm, can it?" Archer specified in frustration. This thing with Vulcans having difficulty reading between the lines could be pretty tiresome.

"Not directly," T'Pol replied. "But it means this planet's geology is highly unstable. There could be other earthquakes, closer to where the Commander and Lieutenant are."

Archer felt several pairs of concerned eyes converge on him, and pursed his lips. "Trip is doing all he can to get them out of there. Phlox and I just spoke to him: they'll be within transporter range soon."

* * *

"Come on, I've had enough of this reeking hellhole," Trip said after he had put the communicator away. Malcolm was struggling, he could tell. But the man was stubborn enough to find the strength he needed, he felt sure about it. "You think with my help you can stand up?"

Malcolm didn't reply, but fought to raise his head off Trip's shoulder and sit straighter.

"That's it, Lieutenant."

Trip slid Malcolm's right arm around his shoulder and slipped his own left arm around the man's waist.

"You handled this great, Malcolm."

He had been impressed at how calm Malcolm had managed to remain, in general, under the circumstances. Perhaps his own presence had helped; but still, Malcolm had kept his feelings in check quite admirably.

"Painkiller helped," Malcolm slurred.

"Actually I meant… you know, bein' trapped and all," Trip said, getting ready to stand up.

"Wh… what?"

"Come on, now," he encouraged, ignoring his friend's evident confusion. "A last effort. Up…"

Trip began to push to his feet, and Malcolm valiantly fought to rise with him but when they were half way there his legs suddenly gave way. Under the unexpected weight, Trip barely succeeded in lowering them both gently enough back to the ground.

"Sorry," Malcolm said between gasps. His head lolled forward, his broken collarbone obviously making it hard and painful to hold it upright.

Trip gently pulled it back to rest against his shoulder. "No problem," he said, trying to hide his concern. "If you can't walk I'll carry you. It's just that if I pick you up I'm afraid I'll hurt your arm more. If you could gather enough strength for just a few steps... it's not far."

"I'll make it," Malcolm said doggedly. "Just give me a moment."

He didn't look like he would. In fact, he looked ready to be sick, but Trip refrained from telling him that, and turned his attention to Porthos, who was whimpering and seemed restless. The beagle kept going to the opening Trip had dug and back to them again, as if to spur them on.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Trip told him. "We'll get out soon, don't worry."

A sudden jolt made him realise that the dog was agitated for other reasons.

"Oh, hell!"

The communicator chirped, but Trip ignored it. "Come on," he shouted, tightening his grip on Malcolm's arm and waist. He pulled up a bit more violently than he should have, eliciting a stifled cry. Without wasting time and breath to apologise, Trip propelled them forward, and they took a couple of stumbling steps.

"Trip…"

"I know. I'm sorry. Just a couple of meters…"

Malcolm's legs folded under him again, and Trip had once more to break their fall.

The ground was shaking, Porthos was barking, and the communicator was chirping; Tip cursed loudly. He was about to scoop Malcolm up in his arms when the man bent over and started heaving.

_This isn't exactly the right moment for that_ , Trip silently ranted, immediately regretting the thought.

Malcolm didn't have much in his stomach, but whatever he had wasn't going to stay there. Trip did his best to support him, as he prayed that their escape way would stay open. The quake was light but continuous, and already dust was rising in the air.

"Go…" Malcolm choked out, still bent forward, pushing weakly on Trip with his right hand. "I…" Another bout of sickness cut him off.

"Forget it," Trip growled. "I haven't dug out half the mountain to leave you here." _Besides, a promise is a promise_ , he silently added.

Disregarding Malcolm's feeble attempts at pushing him away, Trip picked him up awkwardly. There was a groan; then the weight in his arms suddenly went limp.

"Come on, Porthos!"

The difficult part was getting on the other side of the debris. It was a tight and uncomfortable squeeze, but Trip was strongly motivated. They were barely on the other side when he felt the transporter grab them, and for the first time he truly enjoyed the sensation.

* * *

The first thing Trip did as they re-materialised was to stumble and lose his balance. He would have fallen unceremoniously off the transporter pad had someone not kept him upright. He felt strong arms gently lower him to the ground and Malcolm being lifted off him.

It took Trip a moment to realise that Archer was kneeling near him, and that Phlox and a medic were taking care of the Lieutenant, placing the unconscious form on a gurney.

"I want you in sickbay, Commander," the Doctor told him sternly with a glance in his direction, before hurrying off with his patient.

"Wouldn't miss it," Trip replied grimly.

"You two are gonna be the death of me," Archer muttered, watching his Armoury Officer being carted away.

Porthos barked.

Archer turned to him, frowning. "And don't you dare learn from them."

* * *

"I should throw you in the brig for disobeying a direct order."

Trip shrugged apologetically, shifting his eyes briefly to Archer from the work a conscientious medic was doing on his left hand.

"What went through your mind?" Archer asked, with an inquisitive frown. "It's not as if you could have helped Malcolm anyway."

"Turned out I could, actually," Trip countered, raising his eyebrows innocently.

Archer huffed. "You know what I mean, Commander."

"I just froze, Capt'n." It was a half-truth, if he was honest. Trip pursed his lips, unsure whether to say anything more. This was really something between himself and Malcolm.

"I cleaned and bandaged your injury, Commander," the medic said, releasing Trip's hand. "But I'm afraid it's become infected. You'll have to wait for Doctor Phlox; he will want to put you on antibiotics. The man's dark eyes scanned Trip's upper body. "Does anything hurt badly?"

"Nah, I'm fine, thanks," Trip said dismissively.

"You have a few bumps and bruises but they don't look serious."

"Thanks again, Ensign." Trip nodded to the medic, who left; then he turned back to Archer. Now that they were alone he felt he owed the man a better explanation. "I'm sorry I made you worried, Capt'n, but... I just couldn't leave him there," he said softly. "Don't ask me why."

Archer sighed, studying him with narrowed eyes. "All right, Trip," he eventually relented. "I'm just glad to have you both back in one… Back safely," he amended hoarsely.

Trip shuddered as a disturbing image flashed through his mind. "Malcolm's in bad shape," he said, rubbing two fingers tiredly on his eyes.

"Yeah. But I'm sure Phlox will patch him up."

Letting himself fall sideways on the biobed he was sitting on, Trip closed his eyes. "Next time I ask ya to be part of an away team, do me a favour and lock me in Engineerin'," he drawled out.

Archer smiled. "I know you too well, Trip," he said, patting the man's arm. "Next time around you'll be the first in the shuttlepod."

But the Engineer couldn't hear him, having promptly fallen asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

  * 7 §



Phlox heard a soft beep and turned from his desk to the only occupied biobed in sickbay.

"Ah, Lieutenant! Finally awake," he said cheerfully when he saw that Reed's eyes were open. A grimace appeared on his patient's face, when he tried to turn his head. "Ah, yes. You will find it a bit difficult to move your head," he warned him, approaching. "And you won't be able to use your arm for… uhm, I'd say no more than two weeks, thanks to bone regenerating treatments. How are you feeling?"

"I'll let you know," Reed replied drowsily.

"The good news," Phlox continued, as he entered a few commands into the monitors at the head of the man's bed, "Is that surgery on your broken limb was successful, your hand is still attached to it – and you have my Targaelic gelatinous starfish to thank for that – your skull is in one piece..."

Sparing a glance as he waited for some readings to come up, Phlox thought the expression on the Lieutenant's face conveyed the desire to be able to knock himself back unconscious, and was silently amused. This particular crewmember had never been – and never would be – an easy patient.

"...And…" Information came up on the monitors. "…Oh, yes, we're getting rid of a nasty infection that had made you quite sick," he went on blithely, disregarding Reed's obvious annoyance at being given a long injury report. "You had developed a very high fever."

Phlox was actually quite relieved to have finally found a way to fight Reed's infection. He had seriously feared for his patient's life at one point.

"A pernicious little bug, that was. Indigenous to that planet."

More information scrolled up on his monitors, and he broke into a smile. "Very good," he commented, but the words didn't seem to do anything to improve his patient's mood.

"Commander Tucker's hand got infected with it as well, but his injury was minor and consequently his infection was easier to treat. I am sure the Interspecies Medical Exchange Committee will be interested in..."

"Doctor," Reed interrupted him in the croaky voice of disuse. "How long have I been... a resident of this lovely place?"

Phlox rolled his eyes. He took a couple of steps to enter his patient's view range and received a scowling glance from the man, who was tentatively checking himself over, discovering the heavy bandages on his left shoulder and arm, and the tubes that sneaked out of his body, also from places Phlox knew humans would rather they didn't.

"Four days," he replied directly.

"Four..." There was a groan.

Reed brought his right hand, with the IV line attached to it, to his eyes, and Phlox patiently removed it and placed it carefully back on the bed. "As I said, you had a very high fever, Lieutenant," he repeated. "You were drifting in and out of consciousness. We were quite worried about you. Last night, finally, I found the right treatment and your temperature started to drop."

"When can I go to my quarters?" Reed asked. Phlox saw him wince, probably at the weakness of his voice.

"Now, now, Mr. Reed," he said sternly. "You'd be hardly able to keep yourself upright, believe me."

This was a bit too much even for someone like this stubborn man, and Phlox jerked his head in disbelief. "You were unconscious for four days and the first thing you ask for is to leave sickbay. You're easily the worst patient I've had to deal with, Lieutenant. But you won't get so easily… I believe the expression is 'out of my clutches'."

A dejected sigh met the words. "Wonderful."

"The Captain!" Phlox exclaimed, suddenly remembering. He started towards the comm. link on the wall "He asked to be informed as soon as you were conscious. He was quite concerned about you. As was Mr Tucker, and the rest of the crew, of course."

* * *

Trip sat near Malcolm's bed, watching the immobile form. The man's breathing was finally quiet and even, and a sheen of perspiration no longer covered his friend's face, which looked more relaxed, if still quite pale.

The past four days were something Trip wanted to forget. The relief of being back on Enterprise had been short lived. Malcolm's condition, which had soon appeared serious, had slowly but steadily worsened, and every time Trip had walked into Sickbay and seen Phlox's uncharacteristically dark face he had felt his hope grow fainter. But eventually the Doctor had managed to find a way to fight Malcolm's infection, thank God.

Trip passed a weary hand over his face. He hadn't slept much, since they had been back on board. Eyes closed, he allowed his mind to wander to a particular night, a few months back. The night that was responsible for his staying behind, down in that cave.

It had been a long and difficult day. Things had malfunctioned throughout the ship, a bit like the time they had discovered the Xyrillian vessel in their trail; except this time no one was stealing a ride. They had all worked their butts off trying to keep important systems working. In the end, just as mysteriously as they had gone awry, things had fixed themselves.

Trip had known that Malcolm had not only worked solidly for hours on end but also been worried sick. He had feared that the problems might be caused by some hostile aliens lurking around, and that with targeting sensors constantly going out of alignment and weapons going on and off line he wouldn't be able to defend them properly should the need arise. After a day like that, their Armoury Officer would be a bundle of nerves, so Trip had thought he'd pay him a little friendly visit and help him relax: he had showed up at Malcolm's quarters with a bottle of Andorian ale he had 'borrowed' from the Captain. Indeed Reed had still been awake and quite receptive to Trip's offer of sharing a drink. Unfortunately they had slightly underestimated the strength of the alien stuff, and soon they had both felt more than a little light-headed…

\- _that night_ -

"Ya've got to admit, the grav. plating goin' off-line without warnin' in odd places all over the ship made for pretty interestin' situations," Trip drawled, pouring some more of the blue liquor into his glass and Malcolm's.

Malcolm snorted. "I've been told of a flying Phlox frightening his Pyrithean bat to death. And in the galley..." He gave an uncharacteristic roar of a laugh and added rowdily, "Light cuisine – yes, indeed! Pity I wasn't there to see that."

Eyebrows dancing, Trip shot him a mischievous look. "Well, if ya want, one of these days I can always arrange for an encore…"

Malcolm's grinning face reshaped into a wide-eyed expression of horror. "Good grief, no," he said in his deepest voice. "I don't ever want see again my Armoury in the state it was after the problem got fixed." His accent was already a bit less sharp than usual. But he downed a generous gulp of his drink, scrunching up his face as he swallowed, and without a flicker of hesitation reached out for a refill.

"Wasn't only your Armoury, believe me," Trip said, pouring the blue liquor into the glass.

Malcolm's grin came back with a vengeance. "Is it true that Hess fell right into your lap?"

"Who the hell tattled on me?" Trip cried out in outrage. He watched Malcolm lean back against the headboard and, pressing two fingers on his eyes, give in to giggling. The man was definitely on his way to a wonderful headache. Not that he himself was much more sober; it was getting a bit too easy to join in the mirth. Well, what the heck. After the day they'd just had, getting smashed wasn't such a sin.

"Would've loved to see her face," Malcolm slurred, making a low, gruff sound in his throat. "Or yours, for that matter." He shook his head and surrendered to another fit of laughter.

Trip downed his own drink and poured himself another one. Then he slipped to a slouching position in his chair, sprawling his legs forward and nursing his glass in both hands. "Speakin' of faces," he said, a silly smile plastered in place. "Ya oughtta have seen Travis's face when we finally got him out of that tiny storage room where he was stuck for…" He didn't get to finish, stunned into silence by Malcolm's reaction to his words. The man stopped laughing and his face jerked up, suddenly serious.

Well, mood swings: too much booze could do that to you.

Trip blinked, watching his friend awkwardly get to his feet and take a couple of stumbling steps. Malcolm walked on unsteady legs to the far wall, and Trip followed him with his gaze, while he squeezed his intoxicated grey cells in an effort to figure out what he might have said to cause this sudden change.

Having reached the end of the small room, Malcolm turned, swayed, put out a hand to the wall and raised glazed-over eyes on him. "He was trap- trapped?" he asked, the hiccup which shook his voice doing nothing to blunt a certain edginess in it.

Trip looked at him blankly for a beat; then his mouth curved upwards again. "For three hours." He raised three fingers and snorted. "And he was screamin' that if we didn't get him outta there soon, he'd water the…"

"Wa- water?" Malcolm's hitching voice cut him off.

"Not the kinda water you want in a storage room," Trip blurted out, grinning wildly.

Malcolm shook his head slowly. "I wouldn't wan- want to get trapped"

Trip made an effort to pull a straight face – which was difficult, for some reason – and regarded him in puzzlement. "Why the hell should ya get trapped?" he asked a bit too loudly.

"I wouldn't want to," Malcolm repeated, his accent quite slurred. "Be bleeding trapped. In a cramped space. Alone. Ever." He stabbed a finger in the air punctuating every word.

Trip shrugged, already losing control over his serious mien. "Alright. I won't let ya. I promise."

Malcolm pinned him with narrowed steely eyes. "A promise is a pro- promise."

He was wavering slightly but sounded serious, and Trip felt suddenly hesitant. But then, in spite of a little warning voice insisting he'd better shut up, that he was surely tempting fate, he raised an unsteady glass filled with treacherous blue liquid and drawled out solemnly, "Cross my heart."

\- §§§ -

Trip sighed. Maybe he should go and get some rest now. He was beginning to wonder if Phlox had not been tipsy himself, when he had paged the Captain to inform him that Malcolm was back 'online'. Trip had been with Archer then, and they had both gone to sickbay, only to find the man fast asleep. That had been – Trip glanced at the clock on the Sickbay's wall – over two hours ago.

He was about to call the Denobulan, when Malcolm suddenly stirred. He cracked sleepy eyes open and blinked, slowly focussing on Trip.

"Commander," he slurred. He cleared his throat and raised lazy eyebrows. "Been demoted to nurse?"

Trip's budding smile took a lopsided tilt as a certain image flashed through his mind. "The Capt'n did mention something about disobeying orders, but… _nurse_? No thanks. I'd rather be thrown in the brig than have to play nursemaid to you." He let his expression soften. "Anyway, I've had enough of bandages and the like."

Malcolm frowned slightly and suppressed a yawn. "Must have drifted off," he mumbled, behind the hand that – proper gentleman that he was, even when hardly awake – he had raised, IV line and all, in front of his mouth. Suddenly an expression of dismay painted itself on his face. "Did the Captain... did I fall asleep before he..."

Trip chuckled. "How dare ya, Lieutenant, sleep through your C.O.'s visit?"

Malcolm mumbled a soft curse, shifting position cautiously. He didn't look like he was in pain, but Trip had no doubt that Phlox was taking care of that. Mainly, the bulky bandaging made it awkward for him to move.

"So, how're ya feelin'?" Trip asked, turning serious as he raised the bed to a less reclined position.

There was a mirthless huff. "A lot better than in that bloody cave."

"Yeah," Trip said softly. "I was worried about you down there."

They fell silent, and Malcolm's eyes got fixed on the IV line attached to his right hand. When he lifted his gaze again, there was confusion in it.

"I can't remember all of what happened on the planet," he said in a quiet voice. "And perhaps it is better, because what I do remember isn't very pleasant." His gaze became intense. "But it's enough to know that I was in real trouble. Thank you for getting me out."

Trip shrugged. "I only did what I had to." He had put a little emphasis on the words, to see if Malcolm would catch the meaning hidden between them, and indeed his friend's eyes narrowed as he studied him for a moment.

"You didn't _have_ to stay and risk your life, Trip," Malcolm eventually said, in a voice that was deep with feeling. "You should have left when the Captain ordered you to."

Trip bit his lip. "Some things go beyond orders," he said carefully, hoping to jolt Malcolm's memory. He knew the man had sensed something and he didn't want to leave things unsaid between them.

There was another short pause.

"What do you mean?" Malcolm asked outright.

Trip's mouth curved into a fleeting smile. "You don't remember, do you?"

Malcolm heaved a deep breath and released it slowly. "I'm sorry. I don't remember half the things we did or said down there. I was…"

"I know," Trip cut him off. "I know," he repeated more gently. "But I'm talkin' about somethin' that happened three or four months ago."

Malcolm frowned. "I'm afraid I don't understand," he muttered. "Perhaps it's my concussion." He raised his hand and felt the bandage covering the side of his head.

"Ah, don't worry," Trip replied with an impish grin. "I believe a certain blue liquid has more to do with it than the bump on your head."

"Five minutes, Commander," Phlox called, heading out of sickbay. "I'll be back shortly."

Trip watched the Doctor disappear behind the closing doors before shifting his gaze back.

"What do you mean?" Malcolm asked again, looking more puzzled than ever.

Trip bit his lip. "Remember that evening I showed up at your quarters with a bottle of Andorian ale… at the end of that terrible day when things kept malfunctionin' all over the ship?"

"That day is hard to forget," Malcolm commented deadpan. "But what has it got to do with all this?"

"Well, that evening… you told me about your claustrophobia, and…"

Malcolm rubbed a tired hand on his eyes. "I don't have claustrophobia."

Trip's mouth opened and closed a couple of times. This couldn't be. Maybe Malcolm was right: his concussion could be more serious than Phlox thought. Because they might have been tipsy that night, but Trip could still hear Malcolm's words echo in his mind.

"When I mentioned Travis had been trapped in a storage room," he eventually blurted out, finding his voice, "You got upset and said… you said you didn't want to get trapped in a cramped space, alone, ever."

Malcolm looked at him blankly. "I don't remember saying anything of the kind."

"Well, we had both downed a few glasses of liquor and weren't in the clearest state of mind, but I swear to ya, Malcolm, you said those exact words. And you looked damned distressed as you said them," Trip went on. "I took it you had claustrophobia."

Malcolm's eyes returned to the IV line as he mulled the words. Something seemed to dawn on his face, and suddenly he looked up in horror. "You stayed behind in that cave because you thought I had claustrophobia?"

Trip grimaced. "Yeah, well, ya see… when you told me that, you looked so troubled that I…" He took in a deep breath. "I _promised_ you that I would never leave you alone trapped in a cramped place."

"You pro…" Malcolm closed his eyes briefly. "Trip, I was _drunk_."

"So was I," Trip said, hesitantly. He was beginning to feel a little stupid. "But then you looked me straight in the eye," he went on with more conviction, "And told me 'a promise is a promise'. And…" He gave a helpless shrug. "I replied 'cross my heart'."

"And you disregarded the Captain's order and risked your life because of things we said when we were stoned?"

Malcolm was staring back at him wide-eyed, and Trip gave him one of his disarming smiles. "Would ya prefer I hadn't?" he asked innocently.

"No… no," Malcolm stuttered. "I'm grateful... But there is no way you should have felt bound by a promise you made when your brain was swimming in Andorian ale."

Trip shrugged again. He watched Malcolm swallow hard and purse his lips tightly as if to dam an unexpected surge of emotion. The man sure looked overwhelmed and uncharacteristically fragile, and Trip averted his gaze, knowing Malcolm would find it uncomfortable to be seen like that.

The sickbay doors swished open, breaking the awkward moment.

"The five minutes are up, Commander," Phlox said in a meaningful tone, as he re-entered.

"Just another moment, Doc," Trip called back. "I'll be gone in a couple of minutes."

"Not more than that," Phlox warned.

"I promise."

"Watch what you say, Commander," Malcolm commented, choking the words out.

Trip sat up in his chair and leaned forward, rubbing his cheek in a hesitant gesture. Something was still bothering him. He wanted to make sure.

"When we were down there, you were… not always with it."

"I'm afraid I only remember bits and pieces," Malcolm breathed out, closing his eyes.

"A couple of times you started raving," Trip went on cautiously. "From what I could understand you thought you were on a ship, sinking. And then another time you told your sister you were trapped somewhere, that you couldn't get out, and to call your mom."

Malcolm opened his eyes again.

"Ya sure you're not claustrophobic?" Trip forced out, hoping Malcolm would understand this was the voice of concern – and not of curiosity – speaking.

"I am not, Trip, believe me," Malcolm replied in a deep voice. His lips tightened. "There were... a couple of events, when I was a child," he said uneasily, "Which… gave me a bad feeling about being trapped in cramped places."

Trip nodded, satisfied. That was enough, as far as he was concerned. "You don't have to tell me more," he said, making as if to stand up.

"Wait," Malcolm put in quickly, stopping him. He sighed. "It's all right. The least I owe you is an explanation."

Trip leaned back in his chair and watched Malcolm focus once more on the line feeding into his vein.

"I had a great uncle who died in a submarine accident," he began. "He was Chief Engineer on the _Clement_. They hit a mine, and he locked himself in Engineering and kept the engine running so that the crew could make it to the escape pods. He went down with the ship."

"Damn…"

"He…" Malcolm shot him a quick glance up and faltered. For a moment he looked at a loss for words. "Well, he became a heroic figure to me," he went on awkwardly. "And as children often do, when I played I made up adventures where I pretended to be him."

"That's nice," Trip commented softly, with a small smile.

"One day I had this bright idea. I decided that an old trunk that was in the basement of our house would make a wonderful submarine. I emptied it of the old odds and ends my mother kept in it, got a torch, and went inside." Malcolm gave a soft huff of a laugh. "It was the best make-believe game of my childhood. And the worst. I was having a wonderful time, until I tried to open the lid again and found that it was stuck. I wasn't very worried at first. I thought that if I called, mother would hear me. But after ten minutes of screaming, I started to panic."

Malcolm darted him a self-conscious glance. "I began to have difficulty breathing. I remember very clearly that for the first time in my life I thought that I would die."

"And then your sister heard ya?"

"Yes. She got our mother and I was rescued." Closing his eyes, Malcolm let out a long breath. "I still have nightmares once in a while about my uncle's death, and about my little misadventure," he slurred, sounding weary beyond caring about his accent. "Hence I don't particularly like being trapped in a cramped space. But after all, who does?"

Trip got up and placed a hand on his arm.

"I'm not claustrophobic," Malcolm repeated, eyes still closed.

"Get some rest, Lieutenant," Trip told him. "Looks like ya need it."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the last chapter of this adventure.  
> Thank you to all those of you who have been following and left kudos or comments. They are always well accepted.

Epilogue

"Wait up, Malcolm," Trip called, seeing his friend about to disappear behind a bend in the corridor.

This had been Malcolm's first day back on full duty, and Trip had meant to pass by his quarters to check on him, so he was glad to have bumped into the man.

Malcolm glanced over his shoulder and turned, stopping to allow Trip to catch up with him.

"You had supper this late?" Trip asked frowningly, noticing that Malcolm could only have come from the mess hall. "You're not supposed to work overtime on your first day back, Lieutenant," he rebuked him.

"Supper?" Malcolm's brow creased. He looked back towards the mess hall doors. "No... I had my meal with Hoshi and Travis a little earlier on."

Trip grinned. "Ah. Good-night snack, then."

"Was there something you needed, Commander?"

Trip was sure that if it weren't for his recent injuries, Malcolm would have crossed his arms over his chest. As it was, the man only tilted his head and switched on the impenetrable gaze.

Trip rolled his eyes. "Not specifically, _Lieutenant_."

They resumed walking.

"Happy to be back on duty?"

"Bloody hell. I'll take realigning the targeting sensors over visiting sickbay twice a day any time," Malcolm replied with conviction.

"How's your arm?"

Malcolm rubbed it unconsciously with his right hand. "I wouldn't want to take on a Klingon in hand to hand just yet, but it's all right. It won't take me too long to get the muscles back to where they were before this accident."

Trip smiled. "Hmm, sounds like it's the right time for me to spar with ya, might even get to floor you for once."

"Wouldn't count on it," Malcolm replied with a snort.

"Is that a challenge?"

A grimace immediately appeared on Malcolm's face. "I wish. But if Phlox finds me combat training I hate to think what he would do to me. My broken bones may be back in one piece, but I'm supposed to go easy on them for a while."

"Well, it only makes sense," Trip said soothingly. Seeing his friend take what he thought was the wrong turn, he stopped in his tracks. "Aren't you goin' to your quarters?"

Malcolm stopped too, and turned to flash him a tight smile. "Ah… no. Actually I was on my way to the Captain's."

Trust Lieutenant Reed to jump right back into the thick of it, Trip mulled, studying the man with a frown. Malcolm's shift should have ended a couple of hours before and here he was, still thinking about work.

"Catch you later, perhaps?" Malcolm asked a little awkwardly.

Just then a familiar trotting sound reached their ears, and they both turned to see Porthos appear. The beagle ran up to them with a couple of greeting barks.

"Shut up, Porthos," a disembodied voice said, "You know you're not supposed to make noise in the corridors. A moment later, Archer came into view.

"Trip, Malcolm... So that's what Porthos got excited about." His green eyes twinkled with mirth. "Meeting his partners in crime..."

"Now, that's not fair," Trip complained, as he watched in amusement the Lieutenant stand straighter than a dry spaghetti and greet their Captain with a polite 'Good evening, Sir'.

Crouching down, Trip tried to play with Porthos, but the beagle ignored him and instead went to Malcolm, climbing with his front paws up on his legs. Malcolm lowered his eyes uneasily; then bent a little stiffly and patted him on his head.

Archer traded a grin with Trip. "I think you've made yourself a new friend, Lieutenant," he said with a chuckle.

"Captain…" Reed straightened up again and cleared his throat. He licked his lips. "I was coming to see you, Sir."

Archer's eyes turned suddenly serious. "Is there a problem?"

Trip winced. "Aren't ya getting' a bit paranoid, Capt'n?" That earned him a withering look, but his attention was drawn back to Malcolm who, as always, in their C.O.'s presence had turned from a staunch warrior into something of a reserved and discreet man.

"No problem, Sir," the Lieutenant hurried to reassure his Captain. He swallowed. "I… just wanted to thank you. I really should have done so before." He lowered his eyes and darted Porthos, who was still half-way up his legs, what Trip thought was a conniving look.

"What for, Lieutenant?" Archer enquired, looking a little puzzled.

Raising his gaze from the beagle, Malcolm quietly replied, "For sending Porthos down, Sir. It was… generous of you. He could have been hurt."

Trip smiled inwardly. This man kept surprising him. Malcolm might feel uncomfortable showing his feelings, but that wouldn't stop him from getting past his reticence and letting them get a glimpse of his more emotional self, when he felt it was the proper thing to do.

"A member of my crew was already hurt, Malcolm," Archer said, frowning, "I was only glad there was a way I could help, even though not in person."

Malcolm pursed his lips, his blue-grey eyes softening. "Porthos conducted himself admirably, Captain," he said a little hoarsely. "And I was grateful for what he did down there for me."

Trip knew there was an admission hidden in between the words which had been difficult for the Lieutenant. And he had no doubt Archer did too.

"Did you hear that, boy?" the Captain called to his dog, who only spared him a look. "Just don't you think I'll promote you to rescue dog, now," he added, chuckling. "Will you leave Malcolm alone?"

Malcolm bent down and gave the dog another couple of affectionate pats. "I owe you, Porthos."

"You could always take him for a jog every morning, Lieutenant," Archer quipped. "As a matter of fact," he amended, "I don't know how much he'd appreciate that. But I certainly would."

"Actually, Captain…" Malcolm rubbed his chin. "I had something else in mind." He unzipped a pocket and produced a small, capped container. "Permission to break the rules, Sir?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Trip suddenly realised why Porthos was giving Malcolm his undivided attention. And what the man had been doing in the mess hall at this hour.

"That's not C-H-E-E-S-E, it is?" Archer asked sternly.

Reed averted his eyes briefly. "Not as good as a hypospray of painkiller, but I thought Porthos would like it better."

"If he gets the you-know-whats _you_ 're going to take him to Phlox, Lieutenant," Archer warned playfully. Shifting his gaze from Porthos to Reed, he added, "Permission granted."

Malcolm uncapped the container and crouched to give the beagle his reward.

"I was headed for the mess hall," Archer said, watching Porthos make a quick meal of his treat. "You gentlemen care to join me for a glass of something? I think I still have a bottle of Andorian ale somewhere."

Trip exchanged a look with Malcolm which, he belatedly realized, wasn't lost on their Captain.

"What's the matter?" Archer enquired. "I thought you liked it. You never returned that bottle I lent you a few months back."

"Ah… strong stuff, Capt'n," Trip said, scratching his head and wincing.

"You could always have some chamomile tea, Commander," Malcolm suggested in an innocent voice.

"Maybe we both should." Trip scowled at Malcolm for a moment before realising again that Archer was studying them both, looking from one to the other with a perplexed frown.

"Is there something I should know?" he asked.

Neither Trip nor Malcolm found their voices to reply.

"Alright. Forget I asked," Archer said, with a sigh. "Come on," he added, passing in between his officers, "If it isn't Andorian ale, we'll find something else."

Trip followed the Captain for a second with his gaze; then turned to Malcolm. Their eyes met.

"Shall we, Commander?"

Trip shrugged. "After you, Lieutenant."

As they walked along the corridor behind Archer, Trip silently shook his head. This must be the first time a member of Starfleet owed his life to a bottle of liquor.

"You do realise that you'd probably be dead by now if it weren't for Andorian ale and us getting smashed that night, right?" he murmured to his friend.

Malcolm cast him a sideways glance. "I doubt it," he said, keeping his own voice low. After a couple of steps he added, "But all the same: did we finish that bottle?

"I'm afraid so," Trip whispered back. "Why?"

"Might be wise to get smashed again... you never know..."

Trip stifled a snort.

There was a groan, and they both turned towards their C.O, who was still walking away. "Come on, Porthos," Archer said. "We really don't want to know."

**Author's Note:**

> I will be updating this regularly.


End file.
